


delirium

by bevcrushers (dothraloki)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alcohol, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enthusiastic Consent, Episode: s02e05 Non Sequitur, Episode: s03e03 The Chute, Friends to Lovers, Holodeck malfunctions because of course, Holodecks/Holosuites, Increasingly convoluted scenarios to get them together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-11 00:48:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18419387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraloki/pseuds/bevcrushers
Summary: “Oh, come on,” Tom wheedles, as if he’s trying to talk Harry into another double-date with the Delaney sisters; as if he’s not proposing – what he’s proposing. And how can he be so casual about this? “What’s the worst that could happen? Sure, it’s a little awkward, but so what? We’re friends – I can deal with a little awkward.”-tom and harry keep accidently making out despite vowing to stoptakes place between series 1-4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically a 5 times story - 4 instances where they keep making out and are constantly interrupted, 1 time where tom actually bothered to lock his door  
> just a warning for anyone who needs it: there are a lot of drinking/alcohol references in this story
> 
> sorry about any spelling errors/grammar mistakes - i wrote this on the fly while avoiding the very real work i have to finish

He’s onto his second shot of Talaxian rum when a hand clasps him good-naturedly on the back and a familiar voice asks. "Does it really taste as bad as it looks?”

“It grows on you,” Harry drags his eyes up from the bar. Tom’s grinning at him as he sets into the stool beside him. “And besides, it does the job.”

Tom sends him a sympathetic look. “That bad, huh?”

“Wasn’t great. She cut the date short because, and I quote, she had ‘forgotten she’d scheduled a hair appointment at nineteen-hundred hours.’”

“Ouch,” Tom’s laughing at him, because of course he is – Don Juan of Starfleet had never had to worry about a bad date in his life. Harry’s scowl deepens. “Look – never mind, Har. She wasn’t the one.”

“That’s just the problem,” Harry spreads his arm wide, gesturing to no one in particular. “Feels like I’m never going to find the one.”

Tom rolls his eyes and grabs the bottle, pouring his own shot. “You’re being dramatic. So, your date sucked. It happens.”

“Happens a little too often if you ask me.”

“So then maybe you just need to brush up on your dating technique. Maybe you’re just,” he searches for the words. “I don’t know, doing something wrong?”

 “You think so?”

Tom’s expression turns sincere. “Has to be. You’re a great guy, Harry - charming, smart, handsome – you just need to let _her_ see that side of you,” he knocks back the shot, gesturing with the measure in his hand. “I’ve seen you around pretty girls. You get so clammy and awkward. If you just _relaxed_ a little – “

“How am I supposed to relax?” he turns his attention back to his glass. The last successful date he’d been on was with Libby, and that was years ago. Dating – it was so far outside his wheelhouse, to tell the truth, it freaked him out a little.

Tom leans forward now, attention caught, blue gaze sharp. When Tom looks at him like that, it unnerves him - makes him feel like a bug under a microscope. “What is it you’re so worried about?” his grin turns suggestive. “The sex?”

“ _Not so loud_ ,” he hisses a little too quickly, eyes darting around the bar. He’s not sure he’s able to stomach the idea of the entire ship gossiping about his sex life.

Tom raises his palms, defensive. The cocky smirk hasn’t left his face. “Hey, I’m just asking.”

He feels his own face begin to grow hot. He might as well just admit it – Tom knows that he’s hit a nerve and now he’d never stop bugging him about it. “….Not the sex persay.”  
  
“But something?” Tom prompts.

He mulls it over. “I -uh – look, I just. I’m a little out-of-practice. Romantically speaking.”

“Right.”

“It’s like, I’m so worried about, y’know. Intimacy. Kissing. Whatever. It gets into my head and that’s all I can focus on,” he turns away now, avoiding Tom’s eyes as he bites back his own shot of rum, relishing the accompanying heat that burns through him.

Tom makes a little noise of thoughtful acknowledgment. And then another, sudden, inquisitive – “Harry.”

He knows that tone – it’s the tone he uses whenever he’s trying to talk Harry into doing something stupid or embarrassing or both.  Harry raises an eyebrow, wary.

“What if I told you I could help you get past some of that anxiety.”

He frowns, lost. “How?”

 “Hear me out.”

“Tom?”

His tone is carefully neutral. “Hear me out.”

Oh. _Oh._ His gaze drops down to Tom’s lips. Something sudden and hot flares through him. “Tom!”

“If you can get past the kissing - get some honest feedback - it’ll stop you getting all…stuck in your head about it. You can just focus on, y’know, the actual date.”

Harry tries to keep the nervous energy out of his voice. “I really don’t know.”

“Oh, come on,” Tom wheedles, as if he’s trying to talk Harry into another double-date with the Delaney sisters; as if he’s not proposing – what he’s proposing. And can he be so casual about this? “What’s the worst that could happen? Sure, it’s a little awkward, but so what? We’re friends – I can deal with a little awkward.”

He’s making a good point, but Harry barely registers it over the thrumming of his heart against his breastbone, the slow, misplaced heat that coils up his body. He’s not sure how to characterise the feeling exactly. Anticipation? Anxiety? “You would do that?”

Tom snorts. “I’m an enlightened twenty-fourth century guy, Harry,” he pauses. “Unless that’s an issue for you?”

“I’m not saying that,” Harry retorts. He glances down at Tom’s lips again, and Tom notices, smirks.

“What’ll it be then?” His voice turns smooth, a kind of lazy, suggestive confidence he’d witnessed Tom adopt with countless women before. It’s odd – having the full force of the patented Tom Paris charm turned squarely onto him.

“Okay,” Harry says, ignoring the way the tips of his ears burn. Tom blinks, wrongfooted for little more than a second, as if he hadn’t been expecting it. Truth be told, Harry hadn’t been expecting it either - can’t for the life of him understand why he agrees. “But only once – and we never mention it again. And it can’t be in here.”

Tom’s expression clears carefully back into nonchalance. “Done, done and done.”

“Right,” Harry swallows, uncertain. “So let’s…go then?”

“Sure. Why don’t we head to your quarters, _Ensign Kim_?” he lowers his voice, leering exaggeratedly. It’s just to dispel the tension, Harry tells himself, but it doesn’t stop the knots that are beginning to form in his stomach.

The walk back to his quarters is tense. By the time he’s reached the turbolift, he’s already starting to clam up, uncomfortable with the silence. Conversation with Tom had always been easy. Even in their first few days on board it seemed to come naturally - he’d barely had to think about it. But what if this is what it’s going to be like from now on? What if this is what he thinks about every single time they see each other? God – what the hell is he thinking?

Tom draws him out of his panicked reverie with a hand on his arm. “Take it easy, Harry. I can hear you stressing from over here.”

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “Sorry.”

“It’s just me,” a lopsided grin pulls at his lips. “Even if you make an ass out of yourself, I’ll only rib you for a week – two weeks tops.”

“Gee, thanks,” Harry deadpans, as the door opens. He sets his bottle down on the coffee table, and then a strong arm is pulling him back. Before he can say anything, Tom’s mouth is on his. He’s solid and firm, and it’s so unlike anything he’d ever expected – not that he’s ever, really, allowed himself to think about it. Tom backs him into a wall, and it takes more than a couple of moments for his instinct to kick in before he’s kissing back – hands clutching at Tom’s waist, arms, chest.

Tom breaks with that same lopsided smirk, panting as his gaze flickers up to meet Harry’s eyes. “I thought catching you off-guard might make it easier on you.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry says, voice rough.

Tom swallows, another quick smile. “First impressions: not bad. Room for some improvement.”

“How so?”

“I think you should be more, I don’t know, present.”

“Present,” Harry echoes. He doesn’t think this time as he leans in, claiming another kiss. This one is deep and harder, tongue swiping over Tom’s bottom lip. With a sudden movement, he reverses their position and backs Tom up until his heels hit the wall. He ignores the surprised squeak that follows as he leans in to kiss him again. Raking his fingers through long strawberry-blonde strands, he moves from Tom’s lips to his jaw, sucking gently at the stubbly skin there, then tracking down to his Adam’s apple. And when he moves down to Tom’s neck, trailing deep open-mouthed kisses across his collarbone, Tom curses.

Hearing Tom react so viscerally sends another jolt running through him, lighting up his body. Tom tugs him up by the hair to meet his lips again, tongue in his mouth. He relishes the heady taste of the Talaxian rum– he’d barely been able to tolerate it while he was downing shots, but somehow it tastes so much better, sucking it off Tom’s tongue. He’s so caught up that he barely registers their hips rocking together; just the sweet, intense heat of friction. Harry groans, shuddering at the intensity of it.

He’s the first to break this time, pressing shaking hands to his mouth as he steps away, trying to put some distance between them. His heart is going a mile a minute in his chest, and he can barely think – not with Tom standing there, lips pink, hair mussed from its usual, neat slickbacked style. For a moment they just blink at one another.

Then Harry’s comm badge buzzes to life, startling them both.

_“Ensign Vorik to Ensign Kim.”_

It takes him a moment to react. “Harry here,” he struggles to keep his voice steady, “Go ahead.”

_“Lieutenant Torres requires your assistance in Engineering provided you have the time.”_

Harry looks up. Tom’s doing his best to re-arrange his features into something other than complete shellshock. His smile looks forced even to Harry’s eyes when he says, “Go ahead. I was probably going to head back anyway. I’m on an early shift tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure?”

Tom struggles for light. “Sure, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t break eye contact as he presses his comm again. “Tell B’Elanna I’m on my way.”

_“Acknowledged, Ensign.”_

“Well,” says Tom. “I’d say you probably don’t need my help.”

“Huh?”

“With the kissing. I think you probably have it covered.”

“Oh,” says Harry, struggling to keep up with the conversation. “Uh, okay. Thanks.”

As Tom moves to leave, eyes carefully avoiding his, Harry pipes up, ignoring the flush on his face, the jittery feeling in his stomach. “This hasn’t – I mean, we haven’t –"

“Harry, you worry way too much.”

“Right,” Harry lets out a relieved breath. “We’re okay.”

“Of course,” Tom smiles, sincere. Harry’s gaze catches on his lips again – he forces himself to look away. “I really should head off though. And you should too, if you’re late Torres’ll have your kidneys.

Harry huffs out a laugh. “See on the bridge?”

“See you on the bridge.” He watches as Tom leaves, sending light scattering into his cabin. When the doors shut again, the room plunges into near darkness. Harry sighs.

-

 

Tom’s already there when he steps on the bridge at oh-seven hundred hours. He turns to nod at him as he always does, but Harry doesn’t miss the tension around his eyes. Over the course of the shift, they settle back into their usual, familiar routine - mostly professional, but with as much levity and banter as is permitted on the bridge of a starship - and gradually, he finds that tension beginning to melt.

After a while, Harry learns to put away the images of the night before – Tom’s eyes blown wide, black enveloping startling blue; strong arms gripping him tight; blonde hair falling in his face. And when they head back into the mess hall together, taking their usual seats by the window, he does his best not to think about– what would’ve, could’ve happened if he hadn’t been called away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based around the episode non-sequitur  
> let it be known that i'm a harry kim stan first and a human being second

Harry ends up, not by conscious choice, in the mess hall and quietly takes a seat by the window.  He'd taken this seat many times, looked out at the stars and felt a whole host of emotions – wonder and amazement at first, and then hopelessly lost and insignificant, then finally a sort of blandness that only the routine of working everyday aboard a starship can bring. But this was the first time he'd looked out at the vastness of space and felt unnerved. He'd watched the stars out of a shuttle window only a few hours ago, before –

Tom finds him mere minutes after his duty shift ends, beelines right up to his table and slides into the seat opposite. He takes one look at Harry’s expression and the usual, chipper grin slips right off his face.

“You want to talk about it?” Tom's tone is a lightness that's calculated. He doesn't tiptoe around it though, and Harry's glad of it. So he tells him, even though he wants nothing more than to forget it ever happened - to slip back into the workings of Voyager, seamlessly and without fuss. Harry tells him because it weighs on his mind more than an away mission gone awry ought to. He tells Tom about Libby, the cushy house, the promising career at Starfleet – about Starfleet thinking he was a Maquis sympathiser, about his daring escape. He even tells Tom about his alternate counterpart, careful, of course, to downplay the whole _drunk and miserable_ part of it.

At the end Tom sits back, confusion clouding his face.

“Well,” he frowns. “No offence Harry, but it didn't exactly sound like a horror show over there, not compared to _this_ anyway.” The _“so why the hell would you want to come back?”_ is unspoken but Tom might as well have yelled it.

Harry hesitates. The image of Tom Paris, the alternate one, lunging drunkenly at him flits momentarily across his mind. “It just wasn't right. It wasn't where I needed to be.”

It's not the whole truth, but it's not exactly a lie either. More importantly, it seems to be good enough for Tom who nods to himself. “Well lucky for you, I have a bottle of vintage Andorian cider smuggled away in my quarters. From the looks of it, tonight calls for it.”

- 

“- So I said,” Tom is saying in his ear over the sound of the music and chatter of Sandrine’s, “'make me.’ Things started getting out of control after that – not my fault obviously.”

“Obviously,” Harry echoes.

 “I mean, I tried to get out of there but -”

“Security found you first.”

“ _Right._ They wanted to lock me up for the night because, for some reason, they thought I caused it, so I said go f -”

“Gentlemen,” Chakotay's voice comes firm from somewhere behind him. He grabs the bottle from the table. “I think you've had enough, don't you?”

“Commander?”

His eyes twinkle with faint amusement as he glances down at the brown bottle, eyebrow raised. “We’re not on shore leave yet, Lieutenant.”

“You're cutting us off?” Tom looks outraged, or some sort of approximation of it.

“That's right,” says Chakotay, firm. “Go home. Sleep it off."

Tom looks like he's ready to argue further but Harry stops him with a hand, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Understood commander,” he says and half drags a protesting Tom towards the holodeck exit. “Goodnight.”

Outside the loud and busy atmosphere of Sandrine's, Harry's head begins to clear a little. The drunken haze still clings to him, but as they stand in the turbolift, a clear thought cuts across him.

“We need to talk,” he says, and he supposes it must sound abrupt because Tom blinks, blue eyes coming back into focus, and nods.

 “Lead the way, then.”

 Harry doesn't bother turning the lights all the way. He's not sure he can be so candidly frank with Tom staring right at him under the harsh lights of Voyager's rooms. Tom goes right for making himself at home, half sitting, half draping himself on his couch. For a moment or two he just watches Harry uneasily pace the width of the room. “So, are you going to tell me what's the problem, or am I supposed to figure it out?”

“I need you to promise me something,” he starts. “If – if the time comes where I'm trouble, I don't want you putting yourself in any danger.”

“ _Ensign Kim_ ,” Tom starts in a playful voice that Harry knows means he isn't taking this seriously. “I think you've had too much to drink, and if _I'm_ saying that then we have a problem.”

“I'm serious, Tom.”

There’s a pause. Tom’s eyes narrow. “What aren't you telling me?”

Harry takes a quick aborted step towards him and then shrugs as if all the energy has been drained out of him. “You died. In that other world. You pushed me onto that – the transporter pad and then -”

“You told me that before.”

“ _You died._ ”

“It wasn't real, Harry. I'm here right now. Look at me.”

“There was no guarantee it would work,” Harry continues, bitterness seeping into his voice. “And you just pushed me onto that transporter pad and I couldn't stop you from doing it.”

“I -”

“ _Promise me,_ Tom.”

Silence. Tom shifts uneasily. “You know I can't do that. You know what it's like here on Voyager, anything can happen in the heat of the moment. I can't control it and neither can you. And even if I could - ”

Harry snorts humourlessly and begins to pace again. “You asked me why I came back. You know, if I'd known the sacrifice, I might not have bothered. Ironic, isn't it? That I had to kill you in order to save -” He cuts himself off abruptly, turning away.

Tom’s staring at him. “To save?”

“Never mind. Forget it. You were right, I'm drunk.”

Tom stands, folding his arms across his chest. “To save what, Harry? What were you going to say?”

Harry looks at him. “To save you.” His smile holds no warmth. “You were a drunk and in trouble all over again. You tried to hit me. You know why?” he doesn't pause to let Tom answer. “Because we didn't get on Voyager together.” He swallows, fixing his gaze squarely over Tom’s left shoulder. The intensity of it is too much. “By not being there, I ruined your life. So, I had to come back, right?”

“Harry,” his voice is dry.

He continues, pressing his palms against his face, “But every time I close my eyes, I’m half-scared I’m going to wake up somewhere – and you’re not - ”

“Harry,” Tom closes the distance between them. His tone is gentler than Harry’s ever heard it. “Look – I’m right here.”

“But _-_ ”

“Look,” Tom grasps Harry’s hand in his. His palm is warm. “See. I promise.” Then Tom’s jaw hardens for a moment. There’s an internal war being waged behind his eyes. His expression clears into something like determination, and then he’s leaning down and kissing him.

Harry groans into it, unaware, perhaps of just how much he need it– needed this Tom, _his_ Tom, here. He licks into his mouth with a shuddering sigh, trailing his hands over Tom’s arms. Tom is somewhat passive, as if he knows how much Harry needs the reassurance. He stands and lets himself be touched, returning that iron strong grip that grounds Harry firmly in place. As the kiss deepens, he begins to fluster, biting back a groan when Harry nips at his bottom lip.

The door chimes.

They pull apart. Harry pushes a hand into his own hair.

Another chime.

“Crap,” Tom takes a step. “I forgot. Tuvok wanted to talk to me about away mission prep,” he raises his voice slightly. “ _Just a second, commander!”_

“It’s okay,” says Harry. He stands up straight now, trying to shake off the mix of anxiety and pleasure that creeps its way down his spine. He aims for light. “I should go and rest up anyway. See you at breakfast?”

Tom stares at him, unimpressed. “Harry.”

“It’s _okay_ , Tom. Really,” he says again - reassurance, perhaps, for the both of them. As the door opens, he avoids the commander’s gaze, trying not blush under his scrutiny, the perfectly arched eyebrow of detached interest. Lord knows what he must be thinking.

“Harry.”

He swivels on his heel, meeting the bright blue gaze once again. Tom runs a hand over his own jaw – a nervous reflex. “Just…remember what he talked about.”

Harry hesitates. Then he nods once and sets off back down the corridor.

-

At oh-two hundred hours, Harry bolts upright in panic, ice thawing in his stomach. His hands are shaking as he fumbles blindly for his comm badge, barely thinking as he murmurs, “Kim to Paris.”

Nothing. Cold dread grips his insides.

Then, a very groggy. _“Paris here?”_

He lets out a ragged breath, shaky with relief. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Tom blows out a huff that sounds like a laugh. His voice is low, hoarse with sleep. “ _You do realise we’re supposed to be up in five hours.”_

Harry smiles at the warmth in his tone, he can almost hear the tired grin, as he settles back into bed. “Sorry for waking you.”

Another huff. _“Go back to sleep, Har.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm of the firm belief that this episode makes little sense unless you read harry as not straight


	3. Chapter 3

Tom is in pain.

His whole body feels like an exposed nerve, flayed raw. He tightens and closes his fists as he fights against the agitation, the frustration, the blind anger coursing through him. He’s not listening to a word Harry’s saying – something about Bajoran sweet cherry pie and raktajino. Tom knows that fantasising about food isn’t going to work tonight. He needs more than that. He needs –

“Distract me,” he says.

Harry stops mid-sentence, dark bangs hanging in his eyes. “What?”

“I need,” he tugs at his own hair. “God something – something else,” he scans Harry’s face, still handsome beneath days of exhaustion, sweat and grime. Something twinges deep within him. “Kiss me.”

His eyes widen. Tom hears the protest coming already. “I -”

“The clamp, it’s making me crazy. I just need a distraction,” he doesn’t, can’t think of the implications of what he’s asking for, isn’t for a moment capable of it. He just _needs._

“Tom,” Harry’s voice is a sigh, but he catches that dark gaze on his mouth.

Tom’s answering grin is almost cruel. “I know how much you want it,” he drawls, moving his body closer to Harry’s. He eyes Harry’s casual hand on his waist. “Doesn’t have to mean anything. Not when we’re back on Voyager.”

“God,” Harry’s voice cracks.

 “I won’t say anything about it. I never do.”

He glances at him. “I’m not sure we should make a habit of it.”

“Why not?” Tom’s fingers ghost his jaw, barely even aware of it. His gaze is fixed squarely on Harry’s lips. “It’s so much fun.”

Harry closes his eyes, as if he’s trying to centre himself. When he opens them again, there’s something different there, an edge, heat - and then he’s pressing right into him.

Riled-up Harry is like nothing he’s ever seen before. He presses Tom into the floor and pushes his hands over his head. Tom’s grin is cocky, breathless as he acquiesces, allows Harry’s body to bracket his, anticipation burning through him. Harry kisses him like he can’t stop himself, can’t control it, all deep and wet and dirty; all Tom can do is grasp him by the hair, the neck, push Harry into him. Fingers claws at the fabric of his collar; Harry switches to his neck, sucking and biting at the skin and Tom gasps, hips bucking up to meet his. He doesn’t know how loud he’s being, nor does he care – he just wants to fucking _consume_ him.

Harry’s muttering in his ear, half sentences, probably unaware of what he’s even saying. “Tom – please – God.”

“Yeah,” says Tom, as he claims his lips again.

“We have to stop doing this,” he breathes.

Tom’s eyes slide closed as he rocks into him again. Harry’s fingers are everywhere, blinding up his shirt, grasping bare skin, leaving sparks that sear through him like fireworks.

“Gonna ruin everything,” Harry says. “Why can’t I stop?”

“Because it’s good.” Tom pants into his hair. “And you know it’s good – “

“I want this too much,” another half kiss, half bite on Tom’s collarbone. “Want you too much.”

 Tom grasps him by the ass, rocking up, again and again – mindless with it. “ _Harry_.”

His voice drops lower, and just like that, Tom knows that the responsible, sensible part of Harry has gone. Tom _relishes_ it. “Just want to press you down against a mattress - ”

“Yeah,” Tom hisses, moaning against the feel of lips on his neck.

“Taste you. Feel you – “

He almost loses it, dangerously close to being pulled under. His whole body tenses, and he breathes out, using every part of himself to concentrate. Harry must notice because he comes back to himself slowly, blinking as he starts to pull away. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he wills his voice to stay level. “Just…sure know how to make a guy almost embarrass himself.”

Harry’s eyes widen as he digests the implication, then his expression darkens impossibly and he’s pulling Tom in again. They move together - all tongues and lips and teeth, and sweat trickling down his spine and the kind of friction that has Tom teetering on the edge for the best part of ten minutes. But then the chime for food interrupts them, and this time Harry does roll away, breathing hard.

God – he’s utterly, utterly, wrecked. Dishevelled, and ruffled, eyes glazed, lips red, a high flush on his cheeks. And it’s one of the best sights Tom’s ever seen.

“I should get us something,” Harry breathes out. “You haven’t eaten in, like, sixteen hours.”

“I’ll follow on in a minute,” Tom murmurs. He watches as Harry slides away, ambling into the main den. When he’s sure he’s gone, Tom slides a hand down his pants – it takes only two, slow, languishing pumps of his fist before he hurtles over the edge, biting his arm to stifle his groan.

 -

He doesn’t remember much more from his stay in the Akritirian prison. The jagged metal piercing him – a cold, sharp pain, then endless numbness.

Voyager finds them, because of course they do - with a captain as tenacious as Janeway, he’s sorry he ever doubted it. Before he knows it, he’s being discharged. Harry stands, waiting for him in sickbay, all downcast and shameful. For a moment, Tom thinks Harry’s having regrets – thinks for sure he’s ruined the one good relationship he’s ever had, but when Harry tells him about the pipe – about the _violence_ –

“You want to know what I remember?,” Tom shifts now, catching Harry’s gaze with his, sincere. “Someone saying: ‘this man is my friend. Nobody touches him.’ I’ll remember that for a long time.”

As they walk down the corridor he realises that Harry was right - that this friendship, that’s the most important thing; it’s what saved him from his own recklessness, it’s what grounds him to the here and now. He’s not willing to ruin it.

Not for anything.

So, Tom learns to bury it deep, push it out of the way. It’s cowardice, maybe, but prudent.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> holodeck shenanigans

“Damn it,” Harry pushes his comm badge for the sixteenth time. The static fizzles uselessly.

“It’s not going to work, Harry,” Tom sighs and pulls his coat tighter around his shivering body. “Just face it, we’re trapped.”

Trapped on the holodeck. It’d be funny if it wasn’t such a cliché. The wind whips like leather across his face, harsh and unrelenting, and his fingers are turning numb.

“They’ll find us,” Tom offers. “You know, they will. The captain isn’t going to stop until they find a solution.”

“I suppose,” Harry is noncommittal. He doesn’t even seem to register the cold; his Starfleet training kicks in like clockwork as he scours the wintery plane. Harry feels helpless, Tom realises, and he doesn’t _like_ feeling helpless. “We’ll need shelter and warmth until they arrive.”

Tom grasps the phaser from his belt, freezing fingers working clumsily as he sets it on a weak beam. A faint red laser shoots out, melting the snow beside his boots.

Harry nods. “Well, at least we can set ourselves a fire.”

“If I remember rightly, there’s a cave about ten minutes from here,” says Tom. “I didn’t programme any monsters, so we should be safe.”

It takes them close to a half hour battling the vicious snowstorm uphill, and when they reach the cavemouth, they’re freezing cold, shivering and wet.

“It had to be the Ktarian glaciers, didn’t it? Couldn’t just be a Hawaiian beach or the Voroth sea?” Harry grumbles as he shucks off his jacket, pushing back his wet bangs.

“Quit bellyaching,” says Tom, setting the fire. “Think of it as _an adventure_.”

“Well, I hope the adventure ends _before_ we freeze to death.”

“It won’t come to that. Have more faith in the crew.”

Harry scowls at him, faux irritated, and begins to rummage through the backpack. “Sure hope you brought field rations.”

“Top, left hand pocket,” says Tom. “And moonshine,” at Harry’s scandalised expression, he rolls his eyes. “It’ll keep us warm.”

Four hours later, they’re still huddled around the fire, idly swapping the hip flask back and forth. Tom has to admit, he’s having a perfectly nice time. If it wasn’t for the fact that they were stuck indefinitely within the programme, he might’ve even begun to enjoy it. Harry seems have relaxed into it too – either that or it’s the moonshine.

“You know,” says Tom mildly, taking a swig. He’s pleasantly buzzed, a quiet warmth that thaws him out. “We might have to huddle up tonight if they don’t find a way to open the holodeck. Hope that’s not an issue.”

Harry snorts. “Why would that be an issue?”

Tom realises his thoughtlessness far too late. “No reason.”

Harry realises it too. For a moment, there’s silence as he stares at the fire, warming his hands over it. “I’m not squeamish, if that’s what you thought.”

Tom shrugs. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad they’re finally talking about it, this elephant in the room. He’s just not sure this is the right forum for it – or rather, he’s in the right…headspace. “I guess we never had the conversation.”

“I’ve kissed other guys, you know,” Harry says matter-of-factly. Tom’s attention snaps up and Harry looks amused. “I’m not _that_ green.”

“You’re -?”

Harry looks faintly embarrassed. “Are you not?”

“I never gave it much thought,” says Tom, truthfully. “I always found myself going after women, but that doesn’t mean I never looked.”

“Was I -?”

“My first? No. Afraid not.” He passes the flask over, staring at the orange ember. “You know, I didn’t think you were actually going to say ‘yes.’ That time. The first time.”

Harry frowns. “Then why did you suggest it?”

“I guess I was curious,” he shrugs. “Mostly, I just wanted to provoke you, make you get off your butt and stop worrying all the time.”

Harry half-smiles. “Well, it definitely took my mind off things for a minute, there.”

“That’s not to say that I regret it,” Tom amends. He looks up at him. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had Harry.”

Harry shoots him a glance that’s almost accusatory had it not been for the slight quirk of his mouth that gives him away. “You’re drunk.”

“That’s beside the point,” Tom grins. “It’s true.”

“Well,” Harry averts his gaze back to the fire. “It goes without saying that you’re my best friend, too. But.”

Tom watches him. “But?”

Harry shrugs. “I guess, I just don’t want to screw it up.”

Tom lets out a breath, staring out at the inky sky. He’ll never not marvel at holodeck technology, the way it almost convinces him they’re back on Earth. “Yeah, well,” his laugh is sardonic. “I know the feeling.”

 The cold is starting to creep back into his bones. He wonders, dimly, if they’ll ever get out.

“You’re shivering,” says Harry.

“Ah, I’ll be fine.”

Harry rolls his eye skyward, “Don’t be a hero, Tom,” then he stands, moving to sit close on the ground beside him, shoulders brushing. Tom shifts closer, allowing himself to be wholly engulfed within Harry’s space. For a moment they sit like that, gazing at the crackling fire; listening to the sounds of nature.

“Did you mean it?” Tom murmurs without meaning to, but he’s started now and there’s liquid courage coursing through his veins, so he continues. “In the prison, that time.”

“Did I mean what?” Harry won’t look at him. He stares down at his hands like they’re the most interesting things he’s seen all day.

“You know,” he drawls. “You said that you couldn’t stop.”

“Tom.”

“I won’t ever ask you again,” Tom’s voice drops lower. “I meant it when I said I understood. I don’t want to ruin it either. But I just…need to know.”

The silence between them is so thick it deafens him. He finds himself holding his breath in anticipation.

“I think,” Harry’s voice is quiet. “I think that my answer might ruin it.”

Tom’s breath comes out all at once. It’s as good as an admission, and Harry knows it.

He’s not sure who starts it, who leans forward first, but they’re kissing – open mouthed and slow. Heat ignites somewhere within him, and it licks at him as he presses further into Harry’s space, feeling the cold tip of his nose pressing against his own. They kiss like they’re both trying to commit it to memory, the torturously slow slide of tongues, the hot press of their mouths. Harry’s gloved hand is sliding into his hair and Tom groans – so unbelievably desperate for it, he’s almost, but not quite embarrassed about it.

When Harry presses him back onto the ground, he lets out a shuddering breath, eyes sliding shut at the feeling of a mouth on his neck, his collar. He grasps Harry by the shirt, tugging it in shaking fingers, pressing him close. It reminds him of prison, but without the barely controlled aggression ebbing just below – instead is the sickeningly sweet feeling of pressure and friction and closeness that borders on claustrophobia. He feels out of control, and he knows it’s not the moonshine – it’s Harry, staring down at him with eyes glazed over with lust, lips bitten red. When Harry shucks his shirt up, cold fingers settling on the waistline of his trousers, he entire body _keens_.

Suddenly, he wants it all – wants the promises Harry had made that night; wants to feel the press of his body against a mattress, the feel of his mouth, his fingers, his –

Harry pulls away from him with a shudder, breathing deeply as if it’s taking everything to stop himself from succumbing. “I need to know, too.”

“Yes,” Tom pants, because he can’t hide it, not in this state – because he could never quite hide it.

Harry opens his mouth to respond – and at that moment Tom’s comm badge buzzes.

_“Janeway to Paris. Do you read me Lieutenant?”_

Tom’s heart sinks. “I don’t believe it.”

“Answer her.”

He deliberates for a couple of moments, seriously considering the possibility of ignoring it, but it seems that Harry’s sense of responsibility has rubbed off on him. Annoyingly. “Paris here, go ahead.”

_“What is your status?”_

_More turned on than I’ve been in a long time,_ he wants to say. “We’re – good. A little cold, but okay.”

_“Very good, Lieutenant. We’ve managed to unlock the holodeck; Torres and I are on the way. Standby.”_

They barely have enough time to make themselves presentable - Tom wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, straightening his off-duty clothes, Harry pushes a hand through tousled hair - before their surroundings begin to glitch out and the yellow lines of the holodeck grid appear.

The hiss of the doors and clipped shoes on tile alerts him to their presence. “It’s good to see you, gentlemen,” The captain’s smile is warm. “B’Elanna tells me you were running a programme in the glaciers. Do you need medical attention?”

Tom drags his eyes away from Harry and plasters on his own smile. “We’re fine, captain.”

“Sorry we couldn’t get here any sooner,” B'Elanna sounds distracted, engineering tricorder already out. “We’re not sure exactly what happened – we think it was a surge in photonic energy brought on by this part of space - it fused the matrix diodes.”

“That’s okay,” Tom tries to steal another glance over Janeway’s head; Harry’s face is impassive, poker straight. “We kept ourselves occupied.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> vorik redeems himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> extremely light d/s dynamics, with dominant harry and submissive tom

In his defense, he couldn’t have spoken to Tom even if he wanted to. B’Elanna has him help purge the system of malware and so he spends the next few days working around the clock in engineering. He’d be lying if he said he was too upset about it, though. He had, in fact, volunteered extra duty in engineering, to prevent their paths from crossing on the way back from his shift. It was easier this way. Tom would expect him to have answers - answers that Harry doesn’t have; and sure, engineering gave him a headache, but at least it was one he could manage.

He sighs as he stares at the screen, rubbing his temples. Having said that, perhaps a little time off wouldn’t go amiss.

“Ensign, I could not help but notice that you seem…distracted,” Vorik’s mild tone brings him gently out of his reverie.  

Harry frowns at his own computer. “I thought all my corrections were accurate.”

“I am not doubting your ability. All of your work is technically proficient,” he comments. “You are …much less talkative.”

Harry can’t help but smile. “Surely, that’s a good thing.”

“Ordinarily, perhaps. But your quietness has accompanied a lack of efficiency. I have come to expect great competency from you, Ensign. Perhaps if you alleviated your concerns, we could maximise our productivity.

Harry knows Vorik isn’t trying to be patronising. “I thought Vulcans didn’t approve of oversharing.”

“Such a generalization is illogical,” Vorik counters, the irritation is concealed but not well enough. “There is as much variation between Vulcans as there are in any species, including your human race.”

“Sorry,” Harry swallows. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“No offense was taken, Ensign,” says Vorik. “I do not require your apology, only your competency.”

Harry sighs, considering it. He supposes he could at least trust Vorik’s discretion – and maybe, who knows, talking it out could be…cathartic? Besides, the only other person he’d consider talking to is B'Elanna, but then she'd _know,_ and anyway she likes Harry - more than she likes Tom; Vorik was neutral, coldly logical – maybe that’s what he needs.

He bites his lip. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I suggest beginning with what you believe to be most pertinent to your current state of distress?” Vorik ventures.

Harry thinks about it. “I guess…I overcomplicated a relationship that means a lot to me,” the admission comes surprisingly easy, almost freeing. He punches in the line of code, and sits back in his chair, thinking about that look on Tom’s face when Harry had finally admitted it - the surprise, the relief, the _awe_ – all so plain for him to see, and it had confused the hell out of Harry.  He doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore, and sure, maybe what they’d had before was limited, but it was _cleaner._  

When Vorik speaks again, his eyes are back on the screen. “I assume that this relationship is romantic in nature?” Harry almost hears the sigh in his voice, his barely hidden disapproval at the messiness and illogic of human relationships.

“It didn’t used to be,” he finally answers, raking a hand over his tired face. “That’s kind of the problem.”

Vorik raises his eyebrow. “I see.”

Harry says nothing, wordlessly copying in another line of code from his PADD. He was naïve to think that once he’d acknowledged the part of him that _wanted_ , he would be able to contain it. The paradox was that they were both so easy to read, and both so bad at reading from each other. And now the damage was done, and here he was, checking every turbolift before he stepped in, avoiding the bridge like the plague. He would laugh if it wasn’t so _sad._

Harry misses him, and it's only been four days.

“This person does not share your romantic affections?”

“No, I think they do,” Harry pauses. “At least, I think that’s what they were trying to tell me.” That’s what Tom had said, hadn’t it? All of it so evident on his face, in his eyes. _God_ _,_ that confirmation, that was all he needed – if he’d hadn’t been interrupted, if that comm had come an hour later, Harry knows for a fact they would’ve fucked right there on the holodeck. And truth be told, there’s a big and increasing part of him that wishes they _had_ , if nothing else then at least he would've had some answers - for Tom, for himself. _  
_

“Then, I do not understand the nature of the dilemma,” says Vorik, as if it were startling easy. “Do you not desire a romantic relationship?”

Harry hesitates. “I just don’t want to ruin what we already have.” It’s not a lie, but, Harry realises, it’s not enough of the truth either.

Vorik's gaze is piercing, he’s seeing right through him. “Do you have reason to suspect your friend would destroy the friendship you have nurtured, should you become romantically entangled?”

“I don’t think they’d let anything like that come between us.”

As he says it, he realises the depth of its truth. Tom had been at his side from day one and never wavered. But Harry – _he_ had been quick to panic, hadn’t he? Tom had told him after the alternate reality, and kept restating it- in prison, on the holodeck, and countless other times, in small and quiet ways. Harry had mistaken them at first for statements of friendship or lust, but they were declarations that whatever happened, Tom was _there._ And what about Harry? What had he told Tom? That he would balk the moment things became too nebulous?

And just like that, he understands what Vorik is doing.

 “Your distress is illogical," he says, plainly, knowingly. "It yields no benefit to hypothesize about the demise of a romantic relationship that does not currently exist, particularly given the apparent strength of its foundation,” he raises an eyebrow. “Further, if this person is who I believe it to be, his devotion to you as a friend far outweighs his…irresponsibility.”

Harry blinks. Of course, Vorik knows who it is – who would’ve thought trying to keep secrets from one of the most perceptive people on the ship would prove to be anything _but_ futile?

 “You both desire one another,” he continues, turning back to his computer station. “If there is one thing our excursion into the Delta Quadrant has illustrated to me, it is that we should not squander opportunity when it comes along.”

For a moment, the only sounds are the chirping of the computer and the steady thrum of the warp core. Harry is silent as he digests it all. The truth is Harry wants so much, he can barely stand it. And the truth is, Tom, yes, infamous for dodging commitment wherever he found it, who rarely bedded the same person twice, had still looked him in the eye told him that he wanted it all, and he’d _meant it_. The question was, what was Harry going to do about it?

“Thanks,” he says, sincerely. “You’ve given me something to think about.”

Vorik nods once, passing him a PADD. “Perhaps you will now be able to devote your attention to the matter at hand.”

-

Tom’s putting his dishes in the replicator when the door chimes. He sighs, not in the mood for company tonight. It’d been a rotten few days on the bridge; the hours had seemed to drag, and he was more tired than usual. All he wanted was a decent eight hours before the routine started all over again.

The doorbell chimes again. Tom groans as he wipes his hands on his towel. They’re not going to leave him alone, are they?

“Come in.”

The door hisses open, and just like that, the air leaves the room. Harry’s stood there; tension evident in his posture, in his expression. Something in Tom lurches.

“I uh,” Tom begins, unsure. “I wanted to talk to you ever since the holodeck.”

“I know,” says Harry, and then he’s crossing the room in four long, purposeful strides and kissing him.

Tom responds immediately. As he’s backed into the wall, he curses himself for ever suspecting Harry was anything resembling green; the pleasure from his lips, his tongue, burns through Tom, fever pitch hot. He closes his eyes against it, shivering at the feel of Harry’s fingers, pulling off his command red shirt, touching bare skin beneath the pale undershirt. He feels like he’s choking in the heat of it.

“Set your privacy command,” says Harry. His amusement faint beneath the lust displayed so nakedly in his expression. “We have a habit of getting interrupted.”

When Tom speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Computer: privacy command, authorisation: Paris-Omega-five-four-seven.” He barely hears the chirp of confirmation over the pounding in his ears, in his chest.

They move together towards the bed, removing shirts and undershirts and pants between searing kisses. Then Harry’s pushing him backwards, and following him down, bracketing his body against the mattress. It dawns on him, slowly, that Harry’s fulfilling his promises – the promises he’d made that night, and the sheer thought of it sends sparks jolting through him.

“Oh God.”

Harry’s chuckle is low as he tangles his fingers in Tom’s hair, biting at his neck.

“Wait,” it takes Tom considerable effort to pull away, panting. He barely recognises his own voice – he’s wrecked and they haven’t even started yet. “Harry are you sure?”

Harry’s hair is mussed, face flushed. He looks him right in the eye as he rocks down against him, so torturously slow that Tom’s eyes slide shut, head hitting the pillow, bracing against the pleasure. “Yeah, I think so,” his grin is quick. “Are you?”

“God,” he gasps, laughing breathless. “Yes. Please, just get on with it.”

Harry’s smile widens, and then he pulls him in for another, slow, messy kiss. His fingers rest momentarily against the crease of Tom’s hip, before he’s reaching down and grasping him through his Starfleet issue underwear.

Tom’s eyes fly open. Harry’s watching him, bangs hanging in his eye.

“Harry, I –" Harry strokes him deliberately slowly and the rest of his sentence devolves into a groan. There’s a smugness in his eyes, in his smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

 “You’re killing me,” he manages.

Harry pretends to frown. “I hope not. There’s still so much I want to do.”

Then he’s pulling down his underwear and stroking him in a way that has his vision narrowing. Heat coils tight in his groin. He knows that this isn’t going to take long – not with Harry looking like that, not with Harry looking at _him_ like that. He’s playing Tom like an instrument, wringing out groans and moans with every twist of his hand, every flick of his wrist. And then suddenly, the movement stops. Tom raises his head up in question. Harry’s leaning back on his knees, hovering over him, eyebrow furrowed as if in deliberation.

“I think,” he meets Tom’s gaze. “I think I said something about tasting you?”

It sinks in moments before Harry puts his mouth on him. That’s when all of his thoughts grind to a halt. He can’t bring himself to watch the sight of it for more than a couple of seconds. The intensity of it is too much, it overwhelms him from the inside out. Instead, he tangles his fingers in dark hair, mouth hanging open in constant pleasure. Harry must’ve done this before – has to have. The feel of his mouth, warm and wet, his fist at the base of his dick, moving in tandem – it’s too coordinated, too practiced. He’s not sure whether the thought of that makes it hotter. He can barely think at all.

The moment he starts getting close, he drags Harry up with a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him by the hair for another kiss. When they pull apart, Harry’s staring at him, eyes bright, hopelessly turned on. Tom can feel the weight of his erection at his hip. He skims it lightly with his hand, watching the way Harry’s eyes flutter closed, listening to groan that escapes his lips. He grasps him harder, stroking him again, feeling him properly – addicted to the sounds Harry makes, the buck of his hips.

Then abruptly, Harry pushes him back, flat on the mattress. Dragging Tom’s arms up over his head, he holds his wrists in one hand, jerking him off properly with the other. That’s when Tom realises that Harry had been teasing him before. Now it’s deliberate, Harry strokes his dick in a way that has him hurtling towards the edge, turning his head to bury his groans into the pillow. There’s sweat collecting at the nape of his neck, curling his hair there, as Harry mouths at his jaw, teeth on his earlobe.

And that’s when he starts talking.

“You know,” he begins, almost conversationally. “I’d love to do this to you properly, one day.”

Tom cannot, does not have the words to respond; he’s being worked into a delirium.

“I’d take you apart properly, Tom,” Harry drawls in his ears. “Maybe I’d even fuck you.”

Tom gasps at that, hips bucking up. Electricity trickles down his spine.

“If that’s what you want?”

Tom feels like he’s hyperventilating, his orgasm rushes towards him so hard and fast that he wonders if he’ll pass out.

“Would you like me to fuck you, Tom?”

That’s it – that’s all it takes, shows over. He flies apart with Harry’s name on his tongue, vision whiting out. Harry strokes him through it, wringing out desperate cries. He comes for what feels like minutes, hours. And when he finally opens his eyes, Harry’s staring at him in awe.

He’s aware, distantly, of Harry’s hips, rocking absently against him. Ignoring his own hammering pulse, he leans forward, pulling down Harry’s underwear and strokes him properly. Harry’s eyes slide shut as Tom leans in to kiss him filthy and hot and messy, wrist setting a firm rhythm. He’s on the edge, Tom can tell, by the aborted movements of his hips, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

And then, Tom leans forward to whisper in his ear: “The answer to your question is yes.”

Watching Harry come is the hottest thing he’s witnessed in a long time. His eyes screw tightly shut, shout muffled as Tom crushes their mouths together. Then finally, when his groans begin to subside, Tom rolls onto his back.

They lie together, panting. Tom’s heart races erratically against his breastbone. For the moment, there are no sounds but their combined breathing, heavy and loud in the half-dark silence of Tom’s quarters.

“That was…”

Harry agrees. “Yeah.”

He looks as if he’s reconsidering everything he’s ever known. Tom silently concurs.

“Not to ruin the moment,” he begins after a while. “But the last thing I knew you were avoiding me the way I avoid Neelix’s brussels sprout curry?”

“I wasn’t - ” Harry stops. “Okay, maybe I was. A little.”

Tom is half joking when he says: "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? C’mon, Harry, I know you."

"Yeah, you do," Harry is sincere, his expression caught in thoughts, memories that Tom isn’t privy to. “It was…complicated, but I probably should’ve just have come right out and said it.”

“You couldn’t have,” Tom shrugs. He doesn’t like it, but sure, he gets it. The holodeck had been the final straw of plausible deniability. If it were anyone else but Harry, Tom probably would’ve run a mile too.

“Maybe,” Harry gives him a half smile that’s faintly wry. “But I got a much needed talking to, anyway.”

“Oh really? From who? Let me guess, Tuvok?” he grins, propping himself up on his elbow. “Chakotay? No - the captain herself?”

Harry swats at him affectionately as he shifts to grab the towel. “You’d never guess.”

“Hit me.”

Harry looks at him, his own answering grin barely hidden. “It was actually Vorik.”

“Vorik? From engineering?” Tom stares. “You’re right, I never would’ve.”

“He has a lot of wisdom.”

“Oh yeah? And what was his advice? ‘Go and jump Tom’s bones?’”

Harry’s laughing. “Basically, but think more Vulcan.” He settles back on the mattress, tossing him the towel as he thinks about it. “I guess, in a way, he got you laid.”

Tom smile is quick. “Well, remind me to replicate him a bouquet.”

There’s a moment of silence as they clean up and settle back into bed. Tom finally chances a glance over at Harry, bracing himself. “So, give me with the verdict, Ensign Kim,” even to his own ears, the lightness is strained. “Have we just screwed things up irreparably?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry almost sounds surprised. “I mean, it didn’t really feel like we did.”

Tom can’t help but snort. “You can say that again.”

“Felt almost…”

“Natural,” Tom finishes, staring up at the ceiling.

“Natural,” Harry agrees, Tom looks over at him, warm contentment beginning to settle in his stomach. When Harry meets his gaze, his smile is soft. “Either way, we’ll figure it out.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not sure it's canon that you can set a privacy command but what the hell? this is fanfic


End file.
